Beautiful Girl, You're a Disease
by Yugure
Summary: As the hours drag on and Mareigh Sue shows no signs of leaving, the members of the Fellowship fall prey to the extraordinary narcissism embodied by their tagalong. How long will they last? Blatant literal MarySueism.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Beautiful Girl, You're a Disease**

**Author:** Yugure

**Genre:** Humor/Parody

**Rating:** PG-13

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the Lord of the Rings characters or anything in (and including) Middle Earth. They belong to Tolkien and people with more money than me. I don't own Mary Sue, either. I think she's public domain. I also borrowed/altered a line from Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream," but he's dead so I figure he doesn't really care. The title is based on the song "Disease" by Matchbox 20.

**Notes:** This is my first foray in writing LotR fanfiction. I'm really not sure how this is going to turn out. Hopefully it'll be funny, at least worth a laugh or three. Beware blatant Mary-Sueism (although not a personal Mary Sue). It's possible that this has been done before (more than likely) and written better as well. I apologize in advance. I'm sure I'll piss off a lot of Tolkien purists out there, too, but sod off, I'm sure Tolkien would appreciate a sense of humor… Beware of out-of-character characterizations (mostly done for a humorous effect).

            For starters, it wasn't a very nice day.

            Rain pounded the land and seemed as though it would never relent. Brooks flooded, making swampy marshes of previously dry ground. Trees sagged and shivered with the gale blowing from the north. Not a speck of blue was visible in the blanket of porridge-gray clouds that rolled across the sky. 

            Dissension threatened the Fellowship, and they had barely even begun their travels. The group hadn't had anything to eat for quite some time (read: a couple hours), and Pippin and Merry were loudly asserting this point. Sam worriedly fretted over Frodo, who was ready to wring Sam's neck in spite of their close friendship if Sam didn't quit his mollycoddling. Legolas, usually quiet and affable, had grown hostile. The terrible weather was wreaking much havoc on his beautiful hair. _Well,_ he thought as he glanced at Aragorn and Boromir, both who were sporting rugged roadkill hairstyles; _at least I still look better than anyone else…_

            Aragorn was well aware of his less than aesthetically pleasing 'do and state of dress. Really, though, what could be done? _Dropkick that smug elf, for one thing,_ Aragorn though darkly. He could tell by the way Legolas was surveying the group that the elf prince was mentally assessing the stages of putrefaction of everyone else. Aragorn couldn't really blame him, though. If **he** looked **half** as good as Legolas did, even considering Legolas's equally bedraggled "wet cat" look, he would be damned pleased.

            "Och!" Gimli exclaimed from somewhere near the back of the group. A small thud followed shortly after. Everyone turned to stare at the dwarf sprawled on the ground. He glared in return, indignant, and pointed at a root protruding from the ground. "Bloody tree tripped me!"

            "I'm sure it didn't," Legolas replied calmly, extending his hand to help his fallen comrade. Gimli ignored the proffered hand and helped himself up. Legolas gave the dwarf the Evil Eye, thought better of it, and switched to righteous snobbery. With a small sniff and tilting of the chin, Legolas spun on his heel and began to walk away.

            "Bloody snooty elves…" Gimli muttered under his breath.

            All would have been okay if it wasn't for Legolas's acute hearing. 

            "Perhaps if you weren't so stumpy and ham-fisted you wouldn't have this sort of trouble," Legolas retorted, turning back to glare at the dwarf.

            "Keep your thoughts to yourself, you painted maypole!"

            "Gimli, Legolas, stop your bickering," Aragorn commanded, though the lingering day and ceaseless drudgery of enduring it had worn his voice to a mere whine. The irate dwarf and elf ignored their "leader" and continued to volley insults back and forth.

            "I though' elves were s'ppose' to be 'above' all that," Pippin none-too-wisely thought out loud. Merry twitched and sidled away from his fellow hobbit in the off chance that Legolas decided to refocus his wrath.

            "Not when it comes to dwarves, it seems," Boromir muttered, secretly enjoying the verbal melee.

            "We're just all in a bad mood," Frodo generalized. "It must be the weather."

            "It's no' the weather," Pippin replied. "What does the weather have to do with anythin'?"

            "I'm just saying that sometimes bad conditions affect the way people think-"

            "And I'm no' in a bad mood. I'm just really, really hungry. We haven't had anythin' to eat in forever."

            "We're not stopping now. We need to find shelter before the oncoming storm breaks." Aragorn attempted to intervene but only made matters worse. Pippin glanced at the horizon where angry black clouds gathered.

            "We have a long time before tha' happens!" he exclaimed. "Why are you always makin' us hurry? We're hobbits, not bloody men! I've missed both breakfasts, elevensies, and luncheon! I want food, now, or I'm no' movin'!" To emphasize this point, Pippin dug his feet into the ground and crossed his arms.

            "Pippin, don't be stupid," Merry snapped.

            "I'm no' bein' stupid! You're hungry too, I know it!"

            "All you hobbits are the same…"

            "Don't start with me, Boromir!"  
            "Guys, please, don't argue…" Frodo's polite pleas were lost in the sudden frenzy of squabbling.

            "I'm sick and tired of listening to you whine-"

"- can't go ten paces without you begging for food-"

            "- never stops, never rests, we're no' bloody horses, either-"

            "Is this upsetting you, Mr. Frodo? Maybe-"

"- how low am I, you painted maypole? Speak! How low am I?!"

"For goodness' sake, Sam, knock it off!"    

"-and I'm hungry-"

"-you're all insane-"

            "Excuse me?"

            Nobody noticed the quiet, melodious interjection. Not even Frodo, who's last nerve had been shot and he had given up on being polite.

            "-sod off-"

            "ExCUSE ME?" the quiet voice grew a little louder, a little more urgent.

            "-stupid git-"

            "**AAAAAAHEM**!"

            This time everyone froze. All eyes turned to look at the figure kneeling on a nest of moss and fallen leaves. Whatever the Fellowship had been expecting was not what they found.

            Overhead, the clouds parted and a ray of sunshine fell to the earth, turning everything a hazy gold. The figure was a young woman, probably no more than twenty years of age. Blonde hair, the color of corn silk in the morning sun, fell in waves and surrounded a heart-shaped face. Pale, flawless skin glistened like porcelain. Naturally pink lips, the color of spring roses, curved into a beaming smile that revealed a perfect set of white teeth. Bright, lively blue eyes peeked out from underneath a cascade of soft blonde hair.

            She was, in a word, perfect.

            She was also, in four words, an anomaly of nature.

            "I seem to have fallen and sprained my ankle, and because I am weak and delicate, I cannot walk," she spoke, and it seemed as though the heavens opened up and a chorus of angels provided her voice.

            Nobody else spoke. Nobody dared to move. At the moment, the general consensus of the Fellowship was:

            What the _hell_…?

            "She wasn't there a moment ago… was she?" Frodo whispered.

            "Nope," Merry confirmed.

            "Then where did she come from?"

            Aragorn stepped forward, assuming leadership once again.

            "Greetings, my lady, what brings you to the middle of this forest without an escort?" 

            "I do not know, kind sir. 'Tis most strange, indeed. I know nothing of my past. I cannot even remember why it is that I am out here. But as I have said, I fell and I think I sprained my ankle."

            "And your name, good lady?"

            "Mareigh Sue, my lord."

            Inexplicably, a collective shiver moved through the Fellowship.

            "And you say your ankle is broken…"

            "Sprained."

            "Whatever."

            "Yes, my lord."

            "You may call me Strider."

            Aragorn turned to look at the rest of the Fellowship. Legolas was staring in abject horror at Mareigh Sue, the hobbits looked completely baffled, Gimli and Gandalf seemed unaffected, and Boromir was looking at Mareigh Sue's suspiciously perfect and slender foot.

            "Any ideas?" Aragorn questioned, beckoning the Fellowship to huddle for a quick conference.

            "I doubt her ankle is really broken," Boromir contributed.

            "Sprained!" came the delicate voice from outside their circle.

            "Whatever. As far as I can see it's neither swollen nor discolored."

            "It's not right for a young lady to be out all alone in the wilderness…" Gimli pointed out.

            "What if she really is hurt? We can't just leave her here," Frodo said.

            "We can't take her with us," Aragorn countered. He glanced at Legolas, who seemed to be having difficulty breathing. "Legolas, are you alright?"

            "Yes, I'm quite alright," he replied. On the contrary, he looked terribly distressed. Aragorn opened his mouth to question further, but finally decided to ignore the moody elf.

            "Gandalf, you've been awfully quiet lately…"

            "I find it amusing to listen to the petty arguments that have transpired in the last several hours. But that is neither here nor there. As for the young lady, we really don't have much of a choice. Frodo is right, we cannot just leave her."

            "She'll be a burden," Boromir argued. "If she's hurt, we will be twice as slow. Even if she is not, she's still just a woman. And by the looks of it, one that hasn't much experience in the ways of traveling."

            "Getting the Ring to Mordor is a rather important task, is it not?"

            "Frodo? What do you think?"

            In spite of all appearances, Frodo hated making decisions like that. Could they really just leave a defenseless lady out here alone? True, they were on a mission to save the world, and they couldn't just stop for any one person. Sacrificing one for the benefit of many: the age-old dilemma. But what right did they have to throw away someone else's life?

            Frodo ignored the voice in his mind that said they should get the hell away from there and leave the girl to her own devices and said: "We'll take her with us, and leave her at the next village or caravan we come across."

            Their fates sealed, the Fellowship turned back to their uninvited guest. Upon learning of her (temporary) acceptance into the group, Mareigh Sue leapt to her feet in joy, promptly collapsed on her hurt ankle, and laughed like the sound of tinkling bells. After much eye rolling and shuffling about, Mareigh Sue was finally positioned on Bill the pony's back. Her ankle was quickly field-dressed with whatever happened to be lying around.

            "You know, I just love animals, and animals love me, too. I guess it's because I have such a wonderful personality. Animals can sense that, you know. They instinctually want to be around nice people…"

            Sam, who was the lucky caretaker of Bill until they met Mareigh Sue, soon found it very difficult to concentrate on what he was supposed to be doing. Mareigh Sue continued to blather on about anything and everything, and it was giving Sam a rather painful headache. However, since he was generally a nice hobbit by nature, he decided to endure it in silence. If worse came to worse, he'd make Pippin take his place…

            Near the front of the group, Legolas walked beside Aragorn. He seemed to be in deep thought, with his forehead wrinkled in the most unusual and amusing way.

            "Is something the matter, Legolas?" Aragorn finally asked.

            "Tell me, Aragorn…" the elf spoke, glancing over his shoulder at the horse and its noisy burden. "About Mareigh Sue…"

            "Yes?"

            "Is her hair nicer than mine?" Aragorn could only stare at Legolas. The elf threw his hands into the air. "I can't stand it! She has amazing hair, and I'm worried that it's nicer than mine! You don't understand how distressing this is…"

            "Legolas…"

            "What?"

            "… Never mind."

**End Chapter One**

**Notes:** I would love it if you'd review! It takes, what, 30 seconds? And for those of you who don't know what to say, here's a helpful guide:

What was your favorite part, if any?

What part needs the most work, if any?

What is a suitable fate for Mareigh Sue?

I appreciate all reviews, from the drooling fangirls to the Tolkien purists who think I should be shot for desecrating his work.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: Beautiful Girl, You're a Disease**

**Author:** Yugure

**Genre:** Humor/Parody

**Rating:** PG-13

**Disclaimer:** Same disclaimer from last chapter applies here; for emphasis: Lord of the Rings and all relations belong to Tolkien. 

**Notes:** All reviews read and duly noted. :) You guys have some excellent ideas, and it's helped a lot. Thank you. 

For future reference, this will mostly be movie-verse, simply because Mary-Sues tend to proliferate there like mold on aged bread, but I will be adding parts into the story that are present in neither the book nor the movie (ah, the joys of fanfiction…) Most of this chapter is dialogue, for reasons I'm not aware of (my subconscious wrote most of it). As for why I used freaky spelling and punctuation when Pippin was speaking, it was my pathetic attempt at capturing Billy Boyd's adorable accent. Please refrain from pointing out that the rest of the cast have accents; I am well aware of this fact.

Four hours.

Four sodding _hours_ of listening to Mareigh Sue and her inane drivel.

"So I told him, 'I'm sorry sir, I'm just not that kind of girl,' and I was really flattered that he was so interested in me, but I of **course **couldn't get involved-"

What the _hell _was she blabbing on about _now_? Sam had lost track of the one-sided conversation soon after it started, and had managed to keep Mareigh Sue none-the-wiser by simply punctuating her speech with "Mm-hmm" and "No, really?" every few minutes. But enough was enough. 

"Miss Mareigh Sue-"

"Oh, please, just call me Mareigh Sue. Or just Mareigh, if you wish." Mareigh Sue giggled like a small child. Sam resisted the urge to vomit.

****"How is your ankle doing?"

"Oh, it's a terrible pain! I feel faint just thinking about it! But I have a strong will, and even though I am frail and tender, I think I can withstand the pain. Thank you for your concern, it lightens my heart to know that you care so much-"

"Uh, yeah, Miss Mareigh Sue…" Shouldn't she be writhing in agony by now? Or at least subdued into silence? She was awfully active for someone with a supposed serious injury…

"- and I hope that my ankle heals soon! It's terrible to be forced into submission by a broken bone-"

"Broken, Miss Mareigh Sue? I thought it was a sprain…"

****"Did I say sprained? I meant broken. I did not want to cause you and your company any grief over my welfare. I knew that my extreme pain would upset you and strike discord with your chivalry because I am only a defenseless, gentle lady. I am a selfless person and therefore I thought it best to suffer in silence."

This line of reasoning made no sense to Sam. He grunted in response and went back to tuning out the loquacious woman as Mareigh Sue continued her litany.

The tempest reached the traveling party only shortly after having found Mareigh Sue. In spite of the voracious winds and pelting rains, Mareigh Sue emerged looking just as beautiful as ever. Her long blonde hair, although thoroughly soaked, glistened in the sunlight that cut through the clouds above and cascaded around her like a cloak. Her face sparkled with raindrops and her eyes remained lively and bright.

Legolas fumed. The weather had finally gotten the better of him: he looked no better than the Hobbits and barely better than the Men. Glancing at Bill, Legolas mentally swore up a storm in Elvish. He couldn't even honestly say he looked better than the damn pony…

"Legolas, you look troubled," Frodo spoke up, trying to match his stride with the elf. Legolas glanced at the Ringbearer, took note of the dripping, mussed hobbit hair, and felt a little bit better.

"It is nothing, Frodo, thank you," Legolas replied.

"It is Mareigh Sue, is it not?" Frodo blurted.

"What makes you say that?" 

"You keep looking at her… oh, what's the word…" Frodo snapped his fingers and mumbled under his breath. "Ah, yes! Furtively! You keep looking at her as though you expect her to do something terrible at any moment."

"I do not." Legolas shot a quick, furtive glance back at the bane of his existence. Realizing what he had done, the elf slapped his forehead.

"Surely you do not suspect her to have ulterior motives…?"

"I do not know what to think, Frodo, other than she is too perfect for words." A dangerous glint appeared in Legolas's eyes, and Frodo edged away. "I do not trust her."

"He's just jealous," a voice contributed from behind. The elf and hobbit turned to look at Aragorn, who had fallen back a few paces. Aragorn gave a rare smile. "Afraid that he's no longer the prettiest one here."

"Don't be ridiculous," Legolas replied, nearly grinding the words out between clenched teeth. "Just because I'm troubled about her impeccable cleanliness in this savage wilderness doesn't mean I'm **jealous**. I can't figure out how she stays so pristine. Even **I** cannot compete with such-" 

Seeing the exchange of glances between Man and Hobbit, Legolas wisely closed his mouth and refrained from speaking further. Looking closely at the elf's face, however, would reveal the small tic that disturbed his smooth skin where his muscles convulsed, clearly an effort to keep his facial features under control.

As the sun set and they could go no further for the night, Aragorn called camp and began building a fire. Food was scrounged up from the forest, fresh water was obtained from a nearby stream, and everyone began to settle down for the night.

Mareigh Sue slid off of Bill with the help of Boromir and Sam. As soon as her foot touched ground, her "injured" foot to be precise, she pitched forward and fell into Boromir's arms. It would have seemed an extraordinarily exaggerated move if it had happened to anyone else but Mareigh Sue.

"Oh, silly me! I forgot all about my poor foot!" she exclaimed, laughing lightly. A few moments passed by.

Boromir was at a loss for words. Mareigh Sue didn't seem to be helping herself up anytime soon. Boromir's only options were to either stand there and look stupid, which he was already doing, or move away, which would undoubtedly end up with Mareigh Sue facedown in the mud. He may not have approved of her joining the Fellowship, but he was still raised to treat ladies better than that.

"Are you all right, Mareigh Sue?" he finally asked, hoping the lady would remove herself.

"Yes, thank you for inquiring," she replied. She lifted her head and gazed into Boromir's eyes. The last rays of the setting sun cast her countenance in a brilliant gold color and bathed her in pink. Her eyes twinkled merrily. "I would trust you to catch me if I fell, for you are strong and quick."

"Not a problem at all, my lady. It is only to be expected that you cannot walk, for your ankle is sprained," Boromir said, not really listening anymore to what Mareigh Sue said. His mind had wandered and was busy contemplating what they were having for supper that evening.

"Broken."

"What?" Boromir turned back to Mareigh Sue, confusion and suspicion plain as day on his face.

"It's broken. My ankle."

"I thought it was sprained."

"No, it most definitely is broken. As I told Master Samwise, I couldn't bear the thought of anyone worrying, so-"

Sam, at this point, audibly groaned. Boromir shot a quick look at the hobbit but Mareigh Sue continued as though she had not heard. Most likely, she probably hadn't.

Five minutes later, his irritation level having been exceeded beyond reason, Boromir walked away from the pony and proceeded to help make the fire by whacking apart logs for use as firewood. Very big logs. With enough vigor to kill a cave troll. In one strike.

"You are a most excellent steed," Mareigh Sue commended, turning to Bill and grasping his ears. She stroked his nose and the sides of his muzzle. "You're just the sweetest thing, yes you are, you're such a good pony…" The one-sided conversation consisted of much cooing and baby talk. 

Poor Bill. All he had ever done was carry packages for the hobbits. His only sin was nibbling the hobbit's cloaks when they weren't looking, but that wasn't reason for this torture, was it? Sam noticed the pony's ears flick backwards. Not a good sign. 

"Miss Mareigh Sue, I think it would be best if you were to come sit by the fire," Sam implored, taking hold of one of the maiden's arms. The gesture wasn't out of any particular kindness for the girl; rather, it was an attempt to appease Bill.

"Don't be silly, Master Samwise," Mareigh Sue replied, laughing. "Bill loves me. Don't you, Bill? You love me very much, don't you?" The cooing returned with a vengeance. The pony stamped a hoofed foot on the ground and backed up a bit. If he had the ability to reason and think, he would have contemplated pony suicide. As it was, he had to settle for Maim and Dismember.

Bill's teeth snapped at empty as air Mareigh Sue limped away, oblivious to her impending doom, using the shoulder of Frodo as support. While the rest of the fellowship wandered about camp, Sam had to spend time soothing Bill back into placidity. 

Meanwhile, at the water's edge, Legolas splashed the cold liquid onto his face and scrubbed away at the dirt clogging his pores. What he wouldn't give for a good exfoliant…

After sloughing away all the mud that he could, Legolas peered at his reflection. In the dim light he couldn't see much, but perhaps that was for the best. He didn't think he could stand to see an image less perfect than Mareigh Sue's.

"What do you care, anyway?" he asked himself quietly as he stood up. _Good looks aren't going to help Frodo get the ring to Mordor. Skill and intelligence will. That's all that matters. Right now, deal with saving the world. Later there will be time for beauty._

__With new resolution, Legolas returned to camp.

Five minutes later, he rushed back to the stream, looked in it, and sighed.

_Yep. Still pretty._

**Mareigh Sue Kill-o-Meter**

For additional nonsensical fun, I've included the "Mareigh Sue Kill-o-Meter". As the hours drag on and Mareigh Sue shows no signs of leaving, the members of the Fellowship fall prey to the blatant narcissism embodied by their tag-a-long. It should be obvious that Mareigh Sue has managed to severely antagonize Sam, Legolas, and Boromir (not to mention Bill). How much longer until the rest of the Fellowship falls? Only time, and further chapters, will tell.

**Current MSKoM Status: **3 down, 6 to go

**Review:** All reviews greatly appreciated!

Favorite part, if any?

Part that needs the most work, if any?

In your opinion, which is better: mostly dialogue or mostly narration chapters?


End file.
